Bedbugs XLIV

Bedbugs XLIV


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


Nail gun surgery was the wisest alternative. Powder
found on trial again when all thoughts are scattered
and narrative fractured four black dresses match what
people we never dated were wearing and no matter
never mind it's snowing black ash inside and
out; get the children inside! Nobody reads this
or anything else. Will it be found by I volunteer to
take it even if I lose everything. Who is making
that sound? Shouldn't people be here? What on
earth is on my doorstep scratching at the wood?
Stay downstairs! Fractured thoughts you can still splinter
your hand on. Between the cracks, people shouldn't be here.
Pretentious run-ons won't fit on a business card. It's improving
in small increments.


Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:


-put the camera away
-sandpaper memories ingrained
-love between 1 and 2pm
-shells found outside
-keep him away from my family
-grow a pair and show me
-that place is miles away but I can see it


-Adam Barnick

Better Living Through Absurdity

Today’s Topic: So You Think You Can Intimidate Me?!

*Warning: This post contains a gratuitous use of outdated slang, obscure patois and random insults that will likely confuse more than outrage…proceed with caution!

So I have this neighbor –she lives in the building next to ours. Now I’d draw you a diagram to illustrate the way our buildings are sort of connected but I can’t so I’ll just say that the back part of their building is about ten feet away from the back part of our building, though we have this small concrete gangway path that our porches lead down to and it goes out to the alley. Now this woman –as I said, she is in the OTHER building –and simply put, she’s a cunt. Ever since she moved in, she has this habit of screaming at anyone who happens to be out on their porch or on the gangway, if they are making any noise at all. A lot of people will go outside to smoke or they’ll have a quiet conversation or they’ll barbecue or any number of other things that normally occur on back porches.

Apparently, she doesn’t feel that socialization and/or conversation should be allowed to occur past the hour of 9pm on any given day of the week. She decides to handle the problem with an extremely high dose of bitchiness. The usual routine is she’ll open up her back window and tell the person in a highly irritated voice “Would you shut up, there are people trying to sleep back here.” If her wishes are not immediately acceded to, she’ll then follow it up with, “Shut the fuck up! My daughter is trying to sleep!” in this screeching tone that echoes down into the alley. If the people still don’t cease and desist she continues to tell them to shut the fuck up, that her daughter is trying to sleep and that people need to go inside.

Now –I live there. I know how much you can hear from apartment to apartment –and yes, sometimes it can be a bit irritating but really, it’s part and parcel of apartment and big city living. And given that our building has mostly younger people in it, there’s going to be some socializing going on. There’s going to be couples having sex. There’s going to be arguments, perhaps an overloud cell phone conversation, music drifting in and out of windows –things of that nature. To my way of thinking, provided none of those things are gratuitous, you just kind of live and let live. Most people try to be considerate –and exceptions are of course made for holidays and weekends as far as how late these activities go on. My thing has always been just let me know if you’re going to be having a shindig so I’m not caught unprepared –and minus the one inconsiderate fuck that got kicked out of the building –everyone has been pretty awesome about it. Yeah, I still have the chick who practices opera and the one girl who sounds like a cat being tortured while having sex –but those things are so laughably bad that I don’t ever say anything. Neither does anyone else…though of course we snicker about it in the hallways.

So fast forward to the other night. It was really late –like 4am –I hadn’t been able to sleep but I was getting settled into bed and suddenly I started hearing this strange noise. It was kind of a squawking whine and intermittent at first, though finally it became constant –and my cats were all moving towards the kitchen windows which look out on the gangway. I got up and went over, open the screen and stuck my head and shoulders out. On the ground I noticed a wee baby raccoon going around in circles. I called down to the poor thing and chittered at it. My upstairs neighbor Jory heard me and he came to his kitchen window directly above mine and called down softly to me. We both wondered what the little guy was doing and he said that he had heard him every morning for the past week so either he had lost his mom or he was sick. Apparently if you see them out in the daytime, it’s generally a sign that they have rabies or some other disease. And of course we both felt terrible. So we’re very softly talking to one another suddenly, this loud shriek cuts across our conversation. “Would you shut the fuck up and go inside?” and of course both Jory and I say in unison, “We are.” This prompts further outrage and she yells at us to stop talking immediately because her daughter is trying to sleep. I’m trying not to laugh but Jory very calmly says, “You need to close your window and don’t ever talk to us like that again. You’re the only one making noise.” She screams “Shut the fuck up” once more and then retreats into her den of evil.

We just kind of snicker and in a louder, totally conversational tone of voice Jory says to me, “You know one night you were taking a shower and you were listening to music and she yelled at you for an hour and you couldn’t hear her and we just laughed.” I nearly choked, trying not to bust up and I said, “Oh I heard her –I just chose to ignore her.” We of course know she’s listening now, and we don’t care. We continue our conversation and then we both head in for sleep. The wee raccoon is still squawking but there’s nothing we can do so we just have to leave it.

The following day, she does it again. Only this time, she wakes me up out of a sound sleep, screaming at these two people who were apparently disturbing her –even though I couldn’t hear so much as a murmur of conversation. I decided that I had had more than enough. I got out of bed, went over to the window and pushed up the screen and stuck my head out…and let loose a stream of invective the likes of which that building had never heard. It goes something like the following:

Me: Excuse me!

Woman: What?!

Me: Look you vitriolic, pestilential harpy –I am sick and tired of being woken up by your ceaseless nagging.

Woman: I have…

Me: Shut your cakehole, you fishwife!

Woman…

Me: You’re going to listen to what I have to say, you misbegotten muck snipe spawn of a tubercular trollop or by all that’s holy I’m going to make it a point to set my alarm every night for 3:47am and I’m going to wake you up by banging a big stainless steel pot and playing polka music while reciting very bad poetry.

Woman: *Gasps a little*

Me: First of all, I live here. I can hear pretty much everything that goes on that makes a sound above a whisper. I can hear people piss, shit, puke, fuck, fight, talk, I can identify the music they’re listening to, the movies they watch and what sporting events happen to be on television. Hell I even know what food they’re ordering sometimes. It’s part of living in an apartment building –it’s part of living in a big city. People are close by you and there’s not a lot of privacy –if you don’t like this, then bugger off to the suburbs.

Second! If you insist upon spewing such a pointless amount of puckering, you glocky haybag, you could do us all a favor and inject a bit of variety into it. Nobody likes a lazy meddler, and you seem to think that hurling the same three repetitive sentences at us will be enough to send us running for cover. In actuality, you’re merely proving that you lack imagination, as well as restraint and tact. You might want to think about that…

Third! As I mentioned previously, it is YOU who wake people up when you scream at them for having a whispered conversation or for playing music within their own homes. If anyone has woken up your daughter it’s YOU madam, with your excessive nattering and cursing –and YOU’RE going to be the reason she’s in therapy in a few years and probably with a fondness for a nip! You might want to consider how your ill-mannered verbiage is affecting her –you know, kids have run away for less! And might I also point out that you don’t seem to bother screaming at people who are having very loud intercourse or a loud verbal dispute –because god forbid you interrupt carnal rutting or a domestic disagreement –instead you save your chastisement up for those people enjoying a quieter moment and generally minding their P’s and Q’s.

And finally, Madam Shrew, consider this: I know something of the law and I know that we have every right to talk on our porches, listen to music and generally live our lives in OUR building provided we are not being unduly disruptive –and considering that no one in OUR building has filed a complaint against any of the tenants, an officer of the law is going to find it hard to believe that they were doing anything all that terrible. And also consider this - you should be grateful that conversation and socialization are all that occur –no one is dealing drugs, getting into physical fights, breaking bottles, or generally being delinquent and dangerous. But…all of that aside –we can call the law on YOU for harassment –and don’t think for one second that we won’t if your cunty blathering persists! Goodnight!

Woman:………………………..

Suddenly I hear a mix of snickering, giggling and clapping. Then the sound of a window being slammed down.

Three nights and counting…nary a peep.

*buffs nails*

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn."), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story" or start your own.

Today's Entry:


Am I undecided?
Yes and no..


-Adam

Six Word Theater will be taking a short vacation..
see you end of September!

Dems Da Brakes (Episode 5)

Minimalist situation comedy/radio play.

Episode 5 "Space Nerd"

Cast:
Samantha: Melissa King
George: Peter Rinaldi

Setting:
The Upper East Side of Manhattan

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The BBF Interview: Writer/Director Nick Gaglia (part II)

The BBF Interview: Writer/Director Nick Gaglia (part II)

click here for part one of this interview.

Nick Gaglia knew he wanted to be a filmmaker since he was 11,
when he picked up a camera for the first time and wrote,
directed, and acted in his first short film. He was the
youngest kid in his theatre group and studied acting
at Professional Performing Arts School in Manhattan.

His personal life, however, started to deteriorate
when he got into drugs at age 13. Subsequently, his mother
checked him into an unregulated “tough love”
drug rehab(KIDS of North Jersey) that would change
his life forever. The rehab boasted of being the only place
in the world that could keep kids safe and sober, but what
really went on behind closed doors was quite the contrary;
corporal punishment, humiliation tactics, sleep and food
deprivation, false imprisonment, and mind control were
daily routines for Gaglia and group members.

After enduring the abuse for 2 ½ years, Gaglia escaped
the rehab and went on to study filmmaking at Hunter College.
After honing his skills with several short films, Gaglia made his first
narrative feature, Over the GW, based on his unique experience
in rehab. GW premiered at the 2007 Slamdance Film Festival,
where it was the first “under the radar” feature in the festival’s
13-year history to get a distribution deal after its first screening.
The film went on to play theatrically in New York, Los Angeles,
Chicago, and Maryland and was received with enthusiastic praise.

Click HERE for part one of this interview.


AB: How did you get released? And when/how
was the program stopped?

Nick Gaglia: The program got shut down in '98 I believe, then
went underground and still took place illegally in people's houses.
I escaped one day on the GW bridge on the way to a host home.

When did you reveal to people working on this that the film
was based in truth?

Besides Kether, I never told anyone it was based on me.
I wanted the work to be about the subject and the text
and not exactly about me. After the film came out I made a decision
to make it public that it was based on me because I wanted
audiences to know that this is a real issue that's going on
and not just some movie I made up. So I think when the cast read
all the press on the film that's when they actually found out
it was based on my story.

What has been the reaction at festivals and during your
theatrical run been like, for general audiences
and survivors who have come to see it?

The film has been incredibly well received, especially by survivors.
It's really interesting though, when a general audience member
sees the film they're like, 'wow, this must be the severely dramatized
version of what went on.' And when survivors see it they're like,
'I really love the film but that's the watered down version.'
So I always laugh. I did water it down because I felt it would be too
tough to watch if I went all the way with it.
Especially for survivors, with PTSD and all.

Private screening of GW in New York;
many survivors in attendance:


Who did your music and sound design? They’re heads above

what we usually hear in low/no budget indies.

The music department was headed by John Presnell.

He was a supporter from very early on and brought on his crew

of talented musicians. Dale Chase was solely responsible for the

sound design. He's a one man army.

Was 2007 your first time at Slamdance?

How was the film received and that festival

experience overall?

2007 was my first time at Slamdance and I gotta say it was
one of the best experiences of my life! First off, when they say

you have to know someone to get into a big festival and it's

all political, that's bs when it comes to Slamdance. We submitted

a rough cut without knowing anyone on staff there

and they chose us based on the merit of our film.

After our first screening they had to stop our q & a because

it went on so long. And afterward I had a line out the door

of industry and various people wanting to speak with me.

And that's where we got approached for theatrical distribution

from Seventh Art. Afterward, I spoke with Dan Mirvish

(one of the festival founders) and he said that we were the first

'under-the-radar' narrative feature in the festival's 13-year history

to get offered a distribution deal after our very first screening.

How long did it take you to edit the film?

The editing was on-going as we shot the film. So, all in all,

it probably took about a year until we had picture lock.

That's mainly because we didn't shoot this in the traditional

way. We were very guerilla style in the sense that we shot

any free moment we had - nights, weekends, whenever,

until we finished.

Was the filmmaking process cathartic for the experience

you endured, or had you made piece with what had

happened to you before shooting? I found the film

surprisingly objective while still extremely personal.

The process was probably the most cathartic thing I've ever done.
On the 'objective' comment, I wanted to tell the story in the

least biased way possible and have the audience decide.

The details in the film were as it actually happened.

Tell us about the upcoming DVD release.

We were just picked up by Vanguard for DVD distribution.

Kether, George, and myself did a really fun commentary

together. It'll be available later on this year. And the soundtrack will

be available on iTunes this Fall.

What’s next for you as a director and/or writer?

I'm working on developing several projects right now.

One in particular is a documentary putting the teen

'tough-love' industry in context.

Please give us some words of wisdom.

All I can say is follow your passions no matter what.

That's all we have in this life.

"Over the GW" gets cited in a Congressional Hearing

on "Child Abuse and Deceptive Marketing by

Residential Programs for Teens."

-Adam Barnick

The Story Slice by Brian Hughes

The Massage 

by 

Brian Hughes

Arlen waited with a smile until the homely, Chinese masseuse ducked behind the curtain, giving him privacy to disrobe. Arlen was smiling because he didn’t care whether the woman stayed or not, he was quite comfortable will his all-together swaying in the pristine spa air. Climbing onto the massage table, he slid his naked, tightly built body underneath a white sheet and stretched his legs out as far as he could – feeling the strain of his muscles. 

The masseuse ducked her head back in and smiled:
“Okay … yes?”
“Yes, come in. I’m ready,” Arlen said, then exhaled, watching the masseuse’s feet moving to and fro from the face cutout in the bench. She placed a full-length towel over the backside of his body and began loosening his muscles by rubbing him from his feet to his calves to his ribs, on up to his shoulders and neck. After mustering up the proper chi, the masseuse unfurled the towel to just above his ass. Arlen closed his eyes as tranquil new age music emanated softly from two speakers sitting high above the room on shelves. The masseuse squeezed out massage oil into her hands then hovered her palms just below Arlen’s face in the cutout so that he might catch some aromatherapy. He liked it – a musky, tropical banana smell. Arlen liked bananas. He also liked the heat that existed between her hands and his body as she rubbed the back of his neck and shoulders. And with every tissue pressed and knot untied, he liked to imagine all the metaphoric cancers and muscle diseases and tumors being squeezed out of him. That with every session a force field of peace and goodness was taking reign over his body, a realm where no diseases could ever penetrate. It was the power of positive reinforcement and healing. Arlen couldn’t prove that it worked, but to his way of thinking, the mind was capable of so many powers as yet unknown to humans, that this was as good a technique as any in fighting the failures and frailties of the body. In his mind’s eye, he could see cancer cells wafting to the ceiling and popping like a child’s bubbles.

He groaned as the masseuse kneed a shoulder joint with her elbow. She giggled just then. Arlen thought that was cute. He wasn’t familiar with this particular gal. Her name was Mary. Yeah, right … if her name is Mary, then mine is Ming, he thought. “Ugggghhhh,” went Arlen as she giggled again. “Why are you giggling?” Mary just laughed again and said something under her breath in broken English that he couldn’t quite understand. She was a small woman, but the deep tissue massage she was dishing out, the strength and glorious force, made Arlen think that perhaps she was a goddess – the goddess “Masseuse” or something. Leaving him was the kidney failure, the arthritis, the Lou Gherig’s disease, the pancreatic cancer.

“You have nice, strong body,” Mary said.
“Thank you. I work out.”
“Yes, I can tell.” Mary laughed again as she began rubbing Arlen’s legs, moving up the thigh and skimming his ball sack. Arlen’s cock woke up. He didn’t like to get a hardon during a massage, though he was perfectly fine with it; but he liked to avoid it, so he began thinking about the company wide layoffs due in the spring, about his life insurance, about who would catch for the Yankees now that Posada was on the DL. Arlen kept the little guy at bay until she began working the other leg, continuing to giggle as she was moving up and down it. Why was she giggling so much? Can she see that I’m getting a woody? Maybe I didn’t wipe my ass well enough, he thought in a panic. No, that wasn’t it he thought – he had showered before he arrived.

“You’re so good! I’m really enjoying this.”
“Ummm, yeah … I can tell,” Mary said with a laugh.
Okay, she definitely knows I’m hard, Arlen thought. No doubt. All her giggling reminded him of one of those blooper shows where they show outtakes of an actress who keeps cracking up during a scene. It’s not very professional, he thought, but it’s making me more and more hard. She began working Arlen’s fingers.
“You married?”
“Yes I am.”
“Hum.”
“Are you married?”
“Oh no! I would love to be married, but you taken.”
“Now, now … I know you must have lots of boyfriends with those magical hands of yours.”
“No … no… I wish, but no…” Mary continued to giggle.
As she lifted his leg up and stretched it, his penis began to swish against the table, causing it to stiffen slightly. Arlen tried to continue to stay focused on the massage, not that he was getting excited - concentrating further on his body, on his immune system, on his survival.
“You have nice build. Yes.”
“You have an attractive body as well. Why haven’t you found a nice man yet?”
She let out a guffaw, slapping her hands down on Arlen’s ass in exasperation.
“I not been lucky to find white collar man like yourself.”
“You don’t want a white collar man like myself. Oh, no … I’m no good.”
“Oh, yes … like you… yes…” she giggled again as she switched legs – his hardening cock pressing against his abdomen. Arlen would moan now and again – especially as she worked his thighs and calves, the last set of squats at the gym having really tore them up pretty good.
“You’re so good my Chinese flower … so good.”
“Ummm … yes, I can tell…” said Mary with a grin.

After she walked on his back, pressing her toes deep into his spine, after she had elbowed everything into pure bliss, it was time for Mary to work the front of his torso. Arlen happily turned over – hardly shy to expose his large erection. Mary snuck a look and placed the towel over his center region. She started scrubbing his head, digging her fingernails into his scalp – it was his least liked part of the session, but there was a glutton for punishment deep inside Arleb that prevented him from telling her to stop: He just squeezed his teeth together and imagined brain cancer being rubbed out like a Brillo pad working out the grease on a stove. After a thorough massage of his feet, arms and legs, she ran her hands across his hairless, muscular chest, and moved down his torso just far enough to knick the head of his penis. Arlen was tenser now that the session was near completion than when he had entered the room.
“You know Mary, it’s tough … and, you know, I’m sorry that I’m, you know,” Arlen said gesturing to his erect shaft. She giggled once more, throwing her hands in front of her eyes in a playful motion. “And you know,” Arlen continued, “it’s a muscle and all, and it is left to just … to just be there, ya know.” He shook his head and sighed. The massage was over and Mary handed Arlen his robe. Arlen slowly put it on, making sure to give Mary one last look before she exited the room. She did look again, and smiled.

Arlen and his wife, Doris, sat on large comfy chairs in the rest area, eating fruit and enjoying the ambiance of lit candles and small, manmade waterfalls. Arlen needed terribly to go home and fuck Doris – he was frustrated, chewing up pineapple – brooding on his massage.
“I’m more tense now that the massage is over than when I went in.”
“Why?”
Doris was a former Houston, Texas beauty pageant runner up. Her body was still firm, but her face was collapsing under a canopy of large blonde hair.
“Because she was touching me near my penis and she was giggling.”
“I bet you enjoyed it. There is such a double standard in this world.”
“Actually … I didn’t enjoy it.”
“If a guy had done something like that to me, you would have gotten angry at the guy and probably at me!”
“I didn’t like it, I said.”
“You should say something, that’s very unprofessional AND I think illegal.”
“Yeah, well …”
Mary the massager brought a tray of juices over to Arlen and Doris, smiling.” They gave her a dirty look. “I’m not thirsty,” Arlen said.
“Say something,” Doris said. Arlen remained mum. Mary walked away – confused.
“I knew you wouldn’t say something – just like you. You probably loved it, that’s why you won’t say anything.”
“I tell you, that is not true. It made me very uncomfortable.”
“So uncomfortable that you won’t say anything.”

After Arlen and Doris had dressed, they walked up to the front to pay for their massages. Doris began putting her shoes on. Arlen looked frustrated as he handed his credit card to the squeaky clean Asian boy manning the front desk.
“Will you be paying for both, sir?”
“Yes – and … let me tell you, I find this establishment to be very unprofessional and highly distasteful. My massager, ‘Mary’ I believe her name was, kept massaging near my private area, making me very uncomfortable. I don’t know what she was expecting, but I asked her repeatedly to stop and she wouldn’t hear it. I don’t know if she could understand English or something, but I was very put off.”
“That is terrible Sir. I can assure you, we are not one of those establishments.”
“Well, I think you had better have a talk with ‘Mary’ – or can her ass, because she can get arrested for stuff like that? If she thinks I’m a ‘John’ – she has another thing coming.”
“Please fell free to write our Manager, she is not working today, and I’m sure she will take care of the situation. I am very sorry sir; we will not charge you for your session. I am very, very sorry.”
Arlen continued on like that for another minute or two as he put on his three hundred dollar pair of shoes.
“I’m very proud of you,” Doris said, hugging Arlen around as they left.

Bedbugs XLIII

Bedbugs XLIII


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


"I'm disappointed in you," the artificial box says, attached to
the machine pretending to be my wife. I'd turn it off but
what's the use? Another distraction is at the door; the decay
has left three holes in the floor; none of which anyone can fit through.
The moment has been prepared for. I'm giving up on you.
And this time I mean it. No matter man in white on the top of it
must be pretending to be God; well, SOMEBODY has to.. I'll
shut it out. Anything that could change us into what we should
or want to be. 44 years of denial- one day, who's going
to reach this and lay in the field, as they add color and sirens
of the aural and flesh-covered kind. I need one to lie down here.
Make me wait for anything real? Sadly someone, if not the entire
population, will. The phone in her head won't stop ringing.
I snicker at the potential punchline.
Exactly four years ago things sucked but were proclaimed 'the good
old days.' Breaking a glass, the third man carves 'this is all
a waste of time' into the wall. It oozes sap, bleeding like he can't.
Turning, smiling, two rows of teeth on top and bottom. Knowing
Dad's health is improving is a fine wish. But even if everyone gets it
together, she might not. Can't wait for you forever.


Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:


-on trial again
-four black dresses
-nobody reads this or anything else
-I volunteer to take it
-shouldn't people be here
-people shouldn't be here
-it's improving in small increments


-adam